


Champagne and Politics

by 8ron



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3483026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ron/pseuds/8ron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there is anyone Alistair doesn't like, its the Inquisitor. She just has a tiny habit of making huge changes for Fereldan without consulting him. The woman's practically running his country. And so he is horrified, to say the least, when his wife invites her to their home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As had become habit, Alistair found himself abandoning the long list of duties he was supposed to be attending to, and wandering to his wife's favourite drawing room. The one that faced the sun in the morning, with the red satin couches that wouldn't show blood if she came in wearing her armour.

His stomach flipped with jittery excitement. Being King meant he was constantly kept busy, but going through a day without annoying Cousland was simply out of the question, and most of the jobs he was given could wait a day or two.

Besides, that _infuriating_ woman had started dealing with all the important work. Typical. Stupid, tricksty -

"Alistair," he had entered the room without noticing, and Odette smiled at him from behind her desk, eyes crinkling with amusement as he blinked stupidly. "Shouldn't you be in court?"

"Oh. Is this not the court room?" The jokey façade came too easily to him around her. There was something about Cousland that made him want to act like the fool if it meant she would laugh, even more so now that she was back. Maker, but he was glad she was back. It had been two months since the Queen's emotional return, and the sight of her sleeping next to him once more still made his nose fizzle in that way that meant you were about to cry. "My apologies your majesty," he gave her a low bow, complete with an overdramatic hand flourish. His cheeks heated at the enticing giggle that rewarded him, "I appear to be lost… again."

Odette tutted, abandoning her papers and leaning back in her seat as he prowled closer. "Don't be ridiculous. A king is never lost. The court will simply have to come to you."

"Oh I don't think we need them here, not with what I have planned."

"Uh huh. And pray tell, my king, what is it you have planned?"

His grin turned positively roughish, or at least, he hoped it did. Wooing her didn't always pan out like he hoped, and Alistair had come to accept the maddening fact that his wife would always be two steps ahead of him.

"I have many things planned… naughty things… naughty… planning, er, things. That I have planned. Myself."

"Alistair?"

"Yes?"

"Stop."

"Right," he chuckled and moved around her desk. Odette sat up in order for a kiss, but he ignored her lips and moved straight to her neck, nuzzling into the soft skin as he reigned little pecks up towards her ear.

"Hmmm," her hands slid over his shoulders, tugging him further down. Her hair smelt like lemons, a vain attempt to dye the locks a lighter blonde, a fact he loved about her. Cousland could stomp into an important meeting full of waiting ladies, wearing dented armour, face bare of orlesian paint nobles were always buying her, and sword swinging at her hip. Yet she looked after her hair like any pampered lady, brushing it into soft waves, spending forever trying to keep each lock that golden colour he'd grown to adore.

With her hair in mind, he gave into temptation and sank one hand through the silky curls, teeth nibbling on her ear lobe whilst the other hand stroked across her tummy.

A mistake.

Odette's mood quickly changed for the worse, and she sighed, twisting her head from him. The peaceful bliss slid from her face and was replaced with a weary sorrow. She grasped his hand on her stomach, glaring at the table whilst Alistair looked on, perplexed and still pouting.

"That reminds me, my moon's blood started this morning."

"Oh." He rose to his full height, shrugging. "Theres still plenty of other stuff we can do, Cousland."

"That's not what I meant." Odette snapped out the words coldly, and flashed him a rare glare she usually saved for politics and darkspawn, not him. The tension turned cold, but her anger was quickly replaced once more with exhaustion, and Alistair felt his own features begin to mimic.

"I know what you meant." He said softly, stroking her back.

"I just… I thought without the calling… the taint…"

"That you'd get pregnant straight away? Give it time."

"You've been saying that for years. I've given it time. I'm sick of giving it  _time_."

In his humble opinion they'd worn this conversation to death. Babies were constantly on her mind. And they were on his too, Alistair simply took the job of optimist whenever they were both upset over the same thing, no matter how much effort that took.

"Advisers been nagging you for an heir again?" He asked, walking back around the desk and pulling a plump chair up. He collapsed into it, perched his feet on the desk, then frowned as they were immediately pushed off.

"No. Well, yes. But that's not why I'm sad. I just… I  _really_  want one. Or two. Or half a dozen." Her hand was twirling faint circles over her abdomen, and Alistair fought the urge to announce how he wanted the same. She had enough pressure already. No need to add to it.

He needed to distract her. Bring up a different topic.  _Any_  topic.

"What were you working on?" He tried poorly, nodding to the papers on her desk. "Warden business?"

Amazingly, it worked. Or maybe she knew what he was doing and had taken pity on him. That was more likely, but Alistair would take any win he could get. "No. I had to go through the invitation list again. Ugh. I hate balls. Why do we have to have so many?"

"Because I  _lurve_  party food."

"Oh. Right. Of course. How could I forget? It's clearly not because your ambassador  _bullies_  you into having them." She wiggled one eyebrow, and his cheeks flamed red.

"Yes, well. Just because no one scares you. Who have you invited anyway?"

"I wanted to play it safe, so pretty much everyone. Duke Ashford. The Inquisition. Empress Celene…"

"Wait.  _Who?_ "

"Empress Celene. I don't think she'll travel all the way for a such a simple function, but Lady Visgray says we have to invite her any – "

"No. No. The Inquisition? You invited the Inquisition?!" He scoffed, shaking his head and grabbing the invitation list, holding it close to his nose. "Does that mean The Inquisitor will be here? In our home?!"

"No, Alistair. I invited the entire Inquisition  _apart_  from the Inquisitor. Honestly," Odette leaned forward and snatched the piece of paper back before Alistair could meddle with it. She'd had too many important documents marred with silly doodles from her man-child of a husband. "You know you mention her an awful lot. You talk about her more than me. And you're  _always_ talking about me." The look she gave him next was dangerous, but Alistair noted the small playfulness that crinkled her eyes and so didn't start sweating nervously, too much. "Have something to tell me, dearest husband?"

"What? No! I just… I don't like her. She bullies me… more than my advisers." He whined, childish voice earning him a very satisfactory eye roll.

"How much on a scale of one to ten? One being Wynne, and ten Morrigan."

"A solid Zeveran."

"Ooh. That bad eh?" She laughed again, rising to her feet and walking closer. As soon as Cousland was in reach he was grabbing her hand and pulling her onto his lap, noting smugly how he received no protest. "Be that as it may," Odette said, trailing his jaw with one thumb, "shes invited. Her husband too."

"Hmph. Well, you're dealing with her then."

"That's fine by me. She can't nearly be as bad as you make out. Do you know, I hear she has children already? A girl and a boy _._  Apparently she was pregnant mere months after the wedding."

"I went to their wedding. She gave  _birth_  mere months after. We're not meant to talk about it."

"Oh it sounds so… perfect."

"Patience, Cousland." He captured her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, heart wrenching. "Patience."


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks later and Odette found herself in an unbelievably uncomfortable dress, mingling with people she didn't really like, and unsuccessfully avoiding her husband.

"Did you shout at her yet?"

"Ugh, Alistair!" He'd appeared behind her once more, interrupting her conversation with Lady Jitzlebees and sending the woman huffing away.

Great. That would need a fruit basket.

She turned to glare at him, and immediately any anger she'd held slipped away. He looked ravishingly handsome; clean shaven, wearing the dark blue uniform she'd picked out, crown slightly skewwhiff on his head. Her immediate instinct was to start ripping the expensive garments off, but Odette settled with straightening his crown, smiling fondly. They wore matching colours, but the dresses were never that important to her; and she'd spent most of her preparing on her hair, loose strands left loose and curling, with her own crown tinkling above her fringe.

"The Inquisitor hasn't even been announced yet."

"Oh, right. Okay, but remember when she gets here you promised to… do the thing."

"I know."

"Remember to mention General Lipswitch."

"I will."

"She beheaded him you know."

"You'd told me."

" _I_  wanted to behead him. That was supposed to be  _my_  job."

"Yes darling. I'll be sure to mention it. Just… stop fretting _, please_. I killed an archdemon, I can handle scaring an elf into good behaviour."

He nodded, having complete faith in his wife. After all, she was rather intimidating. More intimidating than Lavellan, in his not-so-humble opinion. If there was anyone who could handle The Herald of Andraste, he was sure it was The Hero of Fereldan.

"Okay, just don't say I didn't warn you."

"Noted. Now did you try the crab cakes? Cooks really outdone herself this time."

Alistair grunted and stuffed his hands in his pockets, deciding to stick to his wife like glue under the pretence that it meant he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. Not a solid plan seem as everyone wanted to talk to  _her_. Especially after her disappearance. Odette could hardly take a step without someone bothering her about it, and he was faintly impressed that she remembered everyone's name. He certainly didn't.

"Your Majesty's!" They both turned to a disgruntled footmen, who was pulling at his collar and bowing too low in front of them. "Lady Hufflemuff is demanding the mabaris be locked away. She says it's unhygienic to have them licking up scraps around the tables."

"Pfft. Remind her she's in Fereldan now, not Orlais. The dogs outrank her."

"Don't tell her that last part." Alistair managed to stammer, in between his chortling.

Yes. Cousland could definitely handle Lavallen, and he found himself growing ever more excited for them to meet.

* * *

Lavellan buttoned the cuffs of Cullen sleeves carefully. He'd opted once again for The Inquisition's formal wear, and was looking extremely tempting in his red uniform.

"You look lovely," he murmured, stepping closer, fingers trailing into her dark hair.

"Ah! Don't mess it up. I am  _not_  going through the ordeal of having it pinned again." His fingers obeyed, but only fell down to her collar bone, tickling down the naked flesh until he reached the collar of her dress.

Lavellan had decided  _against_  the uniform this time, and had donned an exquisite creation of shimmering silver, with the flared skirts that were so popular with Orlesian fashion, yet at the same time defying convention with one long slit that left a leg partly bare. That wasn't all, she had been bathed and perfumed, and her hair had been pinned into braids that ended in a loose bun at the nap of her neck, mainly so she could forget about it.

He found himself once again being reminded how lucky he was, and stared shamelessly whilst she straightened the sash of his uniform.

"Where did you get this dress?" He murmured, words hot by her ear. His hands had covered her waist, and he pinned her to his front with a little groan; trying to determine if he thought the dress was too revealing for public eyes, or if that made him love it all the more.

"You bought it for me."

"I did?"

"You did. It was  _very_  expensive and so  _very_ generous of you, Commander."

He chuckled, leaning back to dip a quick kiss on her forehead. "Anything for my darling wife. You, ah, you promise to be nice tonight, Gwen?"

"Cullen, I'm  _always_ nice."

"Ugh. You've been spending too much time with Dorian."

"And you with Cassandra, if that 'ugh' is anything to go by. Come on," she laughed, taking his hand and leading them from the empty drawing room. They'd been half way to the grand hall when Cullen had stalled the journey so he could 'fix his hair.' Half an hour later and a lot of kissing had left them late, and slightly dishevelled.

"You know what I mean, Gwen. Last time you were face to face with the King I thought that vein in his forehead would finally pop."

"I know, it was funny wasn't it?" She flashed him an evil little smirk, slipping her hand onto the crook of his elbow and striding forward confidently.

"No. It wasn't. I almost think you enjoy annoying him. Like last month. You didn't  _have_  to give all that land to Lord Girdleton. It technically wasn't yours to give."

"Yet I did it anyway. Relax, Cullen. Annoying the King is the last thing from my mind. We let Sera come, remember? I'm going to be busy all night making sure she doesn't do… well… anything."

He gave her a look that said 'I don't quite believe you,' but there was no time to argue further as they finally made it to the ball room, and both their names were called out as they descended the steps as a pair.

"And now, presenting, Inquisitor Lavellan-Rutherford of The Free Marches. Champion of the blessed Andraste herself, and leader of the Inquisition. And accompanying her, Sir Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, Commander to the forces of the Inquisition, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall."

The voice droned on as they joined the throng of silk dresses and dark suits. Cullen felt his wife tug at his elbow, and leaned down for her to whisper in his ear.

"Don't look now, but his royal pain in the ass is coming this way."


	3. Chapter 3

As Odette and Alistair joined the couple, they all saw very different things in the Inquisitor.

Cullen saw an angel clad in twinkling silver.

Odette saw a pretty young woman in a pretty dress.

Alistair saw an archdemon. Fangs and all.

"Your majesty's," Lavellan purred, and she curtseyed slightly whilst Cullen bowed his head, as was due. But Alistair just  _knew_  that was the end of formalities, and scrunched his nose like an angry child in preparation for her viper tongue.

"Inquisitor. Commander. It has been… too long." He grumbled, then turned the conversation to his favourite topic. "Have you met my wife, Cous – I mean – Odette?"

"We have not had the pleasure, your majesty."

"Please, Odette is just fine."

"Then I am Gwen, if titles are to be forgotten."

They shared a small smile, and Alistair felt fear settle in his gut. First name basis already? But... no! Even he called Odette by her surname, the old one at least.

She was being polite when he'd hoped to see that mabari temper of hers. Odette usually held no patience for people who messed her around, so why was she smiling at the Inquisitor like that? And shaking her hand? And completely ignoring his tugging at her elbow?! "I heard you saved the world while I was gone, Inquisitor."

"I heard you did the same."

They laughed, and the sweet sound curdled his blood. Alistair suddenly realised that the two of them were going to get along, and for the life of him tried to figure out why he'd thought this was a good idea. He flashed a panicked look to Cullen, but that only seemed to confuse the man (who frowned back before awkwardly avoiding eye contact and rubbing his neck) and Alistair noted how he was on his own.

"I see our companions have arrived right on time," Cullen murmured, nodding behind them. They all followed his lead with a swivel of heads, just in time to catch Iron Bull sniffing the cheese from a platter, only to toss it back towards an unlucky footmen, whilst Dorian complained that he couldn't take him anywhere, and  _why_  were there so many dogs wandering around!?

Alistair raised one eyebrow, reminded oddly of Sten and Zeveran. "They're err… eh… certainly colourful."

Cousland's eyes softened, lips twitching into a soft smile, and he wondered if she was also remembering. "I think they're delightful." She said quietly, watching the exchange for longer than the others.

"Err, of course. So general Lipswitch," he began. Maybe if he started the argument Cousland would finish it for him, she was good at that. But Lavellan cut him off with that evil twinkle in her eye.

"Oh simply a ghastly man. Or he was." She waved a hand dismissively and turned to better face Odette – and consequently block him out. "Trying to start a rebellion, wouldn't stop rambling on about it even when I had him gagged. There's only one way to deal with that kind of snake."

"By the head?" Cousland supplied.

"Exactly so!"

Another laugh, and before he knew what was happening Lavellan was suggesting a turn around the room, and Odette was accepting with a genuine smile she rarely used at these functions, abandoning him for the harpy just like  _that._

"B-But… I was meant to… I…"

They turned, arms linked, and Lavellan twisted her head back at the last moment to flash him the smuggest smirk he'd ever seen in his life, before finally whisking his wife away.

"Would you like a crab cake, Alistair?" Cullen mumbled at his right, mouth already full and plate in hand. "They're delicious."

* * *

Not for the first time, Odette had decided Alistair was full of nonsense. Gwen was nothing if not delightful, and they took two turns around the room before finally pausing a little away from their husbands, who had been trapped in a corner by several young ladies who cared to ignore the marriage bands around their fingers.

"Thank you for helping him," she said without thinking, clearing her throat. "I mean, while I was gone."

"Andraste's warty toes. You're - ? Huh. I didn't think you'd  _approve_  of my… meddling. In fact I was rather nervous about our meeting." Gwen laughed, a hearty chuckle that sounded more amused than anything. "Hasn't he been complaining bitterly about me?"

"Please. I can't get him to shut up." She admitted, watching as Alistair shook his head at a dance offer and backed further against the wall. "He respects you though, in an odd, absolutely terrified of you, kind of way."

"And I him." She said without hesitation. In truth Gwen had a great deal of respect for Fereden's King. Though she did think he was an idiot, at the best of times, however she could begrudgingly see that Alistair was no fool. "Just... don't tell him that, would you? I'd never live it down."

Odette scoffed, wincing ever so slightly as Alistair spillt his drink down one woman's dress. "Your secrets safe with me, I promise."

Gwen followed her gaze and caught eye contact with Cullen, whos look was clear. 'Get me out of here.' He never enjoyed these things. "Shall we go rescue our estranged husbands?"

"In a moment. Let them miss us a while longer. I myself wouldn't mind some champagne."

Gwen felt her smile widening, suddenly very keen on The Hero of Fereldan and her slightly sadistic sense of humour. "An excellent idea, your highness. But just water for me, if you don't mind." Her hands went to her belly instinctively, and despite the desperate attempt to hide her emotions, Odette's own smile turned wobbly.

"You mean to say… you're expecting?" Voice steady, Odette, that was it. She just had to act happy for her, that was the normal reaction.

"Yes. This one was our little surprise. Cullen nearly fell off his chair when I told him. I – are you alright?"

Damn her, but her eyes had turned watery, and Odette suddenly wished she  _had_ bothered to rescue Alistair, needing his comfort now as she stared down at her feet with a tiny bob. Typical. An army of darkspawn couldn't make her look twice. But the mere mention of pregnancy sent her over the edge. "Oh yes, I'm fine. I'm just…"

Three. She got to have three children, and Lavellan had to be at least ten years younger. When Odette had been her age she'd been saving Fereldan. How was it fair, that Gwen had three children already and her none?

Lavellan placed a hand gently over her arm, and she might have been mad at her for it. Usually Odette hated anyone touching her who wasn't her husband; but the contact made her head rise, and the look on Gwen's face wasn't full of pity like most people, but rather compassion, as if she knew she couldn't even begin to understand, and nothing she could say would help. Odette didn't have to explain anything, and Gwen wouldn't ask.

"I'm sorry…" an awkward pause, and Lavellan desperately hunted for something to lighten the mood. "Do you know, while you were gone, I almost made your husband cry?"

Despite the welling in her chest, Odette snorted loudly, earning a shocked gasp from two old matrons stood behind them.

"Really? How?"

"Well he'd come to Skyhold to tell me off, or have a 'polite negotiation over our current situation' if you put it in his words. But he hadn't taken into account that I live in the mountains, so the silly man forgot to bring any fur cloaks..." She began to lead her off towards the refreshment table, regaling her with embarrassing stories about Alistair, complete with dramatic hand flourishes and deeped voiced impressions, until Odette's sides ached with laughter, and - for the first time in a long time - she started to enjoy herself in a dress.


	4. Chapter 4

"Do you think they're talking about me?" Alistair hissed, still stood with Cullen, and several young women he didn't even know.

 _That_ was the commander's fault. He seemed to attract the little chits like flies to honey, and if Alistair had said no to several dances, it was nothing compared to Cullen.

"Who?"

"Our w _ives!_ "

"Oh. Them." He raked a hand through his hair – causing one young girl to swoon, really – and hunted the ball room for Gwen. "Why would they be talking about you? They're probably discussing the best ways to disembowel an ogre."

He nodded. That did sound like them.

"Your majesty, is your hair naturally that blonde?" One woman slurred by his right, giggling behind a fan while her friends poked her in the back and pretended they weren't listening.

"Err, yes. But I've heard lemon juice dyes it, if you're thinking of going blonde."

"No I was – I – "

"Does this sort of thing happen a lot, Rutherford?" He had already turned back to Cullen, who was being asked about Templar training by a pair of twins.

"Which? Being abandoned by my wife at social functions, or… this?"

"Both."

"Yes. To both. Now that you mention it."

He sighed, exasperated, and finally spotted Cousland and Lavellan by the punch table, still chatting fondly without even a remote hint of sarcasm from either side. Huffing, Alistair decided that introducing them had been a terrible decision. Now Lavellan had not only stolen his country, but his wife. There was apparently no end to her thievery, and he wondered bitterly how Cullen managed to put up with her.

"Hmph. Am I allowed to banish her? Can I do that?"

"I assume you mean my wife?" He grumbled, but Cullen's tone remained teasing, and at least while the two of them were talking their followers were slowly becoming discouraged. "I suppose. She'd probably point her army in your general direction though."

"You're her military adviser. I could banish her, and then you could  _advise_  her not to chop my head off in a bloody battle."

"You're overestimating how much of my advice she actually follows."

"Right. Right."

"Ahem." He cleared his throat and pulled at the collar of his uniform. "If you're unpleased with some of The Inquisitor's decisions, your majesty, maybe you could try talking to her?" Cullen suggested, formalities back in place and clearly uncomfortable about the conversation.

"I have! But she does this thing, with her words. All these tricky words. And then I'm confused about what we're talking about. And before I know it I'm agreeing to send her money, or soldiers, or give her land. Its – " he paused, once again remembering who he was talking to. Though Cullen's expression held nothing but empathy, he probably didn't appreciate someone complaining endlessly about his wife, even if that person was his king. "Forgive me. This conversation is unbecoming."

"No. No. I understand. This is what happens when you marry powerful women."

"Heh. Tell me about it." He said, smiling.

"You think our wives are bad," Cullen leaned forward, voice dropping low and expression turning grave, "did you ever meet The Champion of Kirkwall? Now  _that_ woman is terrifying."

* * *

An hour past, and Alistair did not manage to reclaim his wife. But he  _did_  manage to escape Cullen's throng of admirers. Shuffling away as the group began to argue over the colour of the Commander's eyes.

He still felt a little guilty about that, and avoided the man's glare of betrayal as he slunk off. He'd survive, he was clearly use to the attention, if not happy with it. Alistair just wanted a moment alone, to catch his breath. Maybe even find the cheese platter.

"Alistair." Odette called, and he spun just a little too fast to face her, grinning from ear to ear. Forget being alone. This was much better.

Or so he'd thought. True, Lavellan was no longer by her side, but Odette was not alone, and in her place was an extremely nervous young woman. But all Alistair noticed was her dress, which was an unfortunate shade of fluorescent orange.

"You look like an aubergine." He blurted without thinking, not meaning to be insulting. But it had obviously come out that way, as the stranger's face had turned a blotchy red, and Odette looked like she very much wanted to skewer him.

" _This,"_ she bit out through clenched teeth, "is Lady Wufflemite."

"Your Majesty," the girl moved to curtsey, but Odette grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her back up, clearly under the opinion that Alistair didn't deserve one.

"And I simply insist the two of you share a dance." She finished, one eye twitching.

Well that did it, he couldn't exactly say no, could he? And so, very aware that he was on thin ice, Alistair kissed the young chit's knuckles and tried to give her his most charming smile.

"The pleasure would be all mine."

* * *

Two hours later and Alistair was sure he'd danced with every single wallflower in attendance, all under direct instructions from his wife. He might have sworn she was punishing him, if Odette didn't do this at every single ball. She was always trying to help, constantly ready to rescue someone. Even if it was just the ugly ducklings at a party. One dance with the King and suddenly Odette's flock were the most popular girls of the evening, dance cards quickly filled while he was being pushed towards yet another.

Sweet of her, but unbelievably annoying, and he lingered by the windows in an attempt to hide.

"Alistair, there you are."

No such look, she'd quickly found him again, and he stifled a groan before turning to see his latest dance partner. What was wrong with this one? A warty noise, perhaps? Wirey hair? Greasy skin? Simply from a low-standing family?

No. Instead he came face to face with one of the most beautiful women in attendance.

Lavellan.

"Oh no." He muttered before he could stop himself.

"Oh yes." Lavellan replied, eyes narrowing with a wicked smirk.

Odette ignored them both. "The King and the Inquisitor. The two of you should definitely share a dance. I believe the waltz is next."

Alistair began to whine her name. Dancing with the wallflowers was no problem, and he'd never complain, but  _this._

" _Cousslaaaand…."_

"It's in our best interests to show the Orlesians you're on friendly terms."

"Which we are." Lavellan quipped.

"Which you are." Odette agreed, though she didn't sound convinced. "Remember to smile, Alistair."

He wasn't given time to argue, as Lavellan was latching onto his arm and dragging him out to the dance floor. Alistair looked back desperately at Odette, who waved him off with a happy grin. He couldn't think of anything worse. He'd rather face a horde of darkspawn in his underclothes than dance with the she-devil, and his face curdled as he put one hand on her waist, the other hesitantly holding her own like a young boy who still found girls 'icky.'

"Don't look so sour, Alistair. I'm not about to turn you into a toad."

" _Very_  reassuring." He drawled, and they shared a pouty glare before the band picked up the tune and Lavellan was suddenly swirling him forward.

That was the first problem, the maddening woman was determined to lead, and the two fought for control as they moved in not-so-perfect sync across the marble floor – almost colliding with three other pairs of dancers on their way.

"Let. Me.  _Lead_." He hissed, pulling just a little too hard on her arm.

"Then stop being such a pushover and  _lead."_

He wasn't sure if she was talking about the waltz or his country, and that bubbled his anger to no end, face heating up with rage.

Right step, back step, turn, and then the men picked the woman up and spun them gently. Only Alistair practically flung the elf around, and chortled at her squeak of horror as she was raised just that little too high.

It wasn't entirely worth it though, and she fought back with a not-so-subtle stomp on his foot as soon as he'd placed her back down.

"OW!"

"Shh!"

They continued the dance, twirling and spinning, her silver dress twinkling under the candle light and catching the attention of more than a few onlookers as the powerful pair practically wrestled on the dance floor.

Her hand on his shoulder pinched him, Alistair's foot 'accidentally' whacked her in the shin. Lavellan stumbled forward and twisted his wrist painfully before finally regaining her balance. All the while following the music with gritted teeth. Step, step, slide. Back step, turn. Pinch, kick, pull.

Alistair had finally managed to lead, but Lavellan was making him work for it, and his arms felt like they'd been swinging a great sword for hours.

Right step, back, left turn, twirl.

"Your face is red." She mumbled quietly, glaring up at him.

"Your hairs coming unpinned."

That earn't him an angry growl, and Alistair almost felt himself enjoying his time with Gwen. It was like another one of her games, and for the first time ever, he was winning.

He spun her again, and there was a low murmur of disapproval as his quick movement flashed Lavellan's ankles to the world. She paid him back with another stomp, but Alistair's toes already felt numb, and his snorted before twirling again, even faster this time.

"You ass."

"Harpy."

"Nug for brains!"

"Control freak!"

That was when they realised the music had stopped, and they were the only ones still dancing as the others watched on, mortified.

They released each other quickly, panting from exertion and both looking very uncomfortable. Lavellan seemed like she wanted to shrink into herself. Being an elf, she no doubt had to be on her best behaviour in front of the court under usual circumstances; and he would have felt sorry for her if he didn't blame her entirely.

It was only when a polite applause broke out that they relaxed again, and the two shared a small smile. That was closest thing to an apology they'd give each other in any case, and Alistair placed Gwen's hand on the crook of his elbow – gently – before leading her back to their spouses.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a beautiful dancer?" She teased, tongue practically dripping with sarcasm.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a trouble maker?"

She snorted, but then something caught the elf's eye, and the hand on his elbow clenched. "Oh… shit." She mumbled, and he immediately saw what she meant.

Odette looked furious, arms crossed over her chest, tapping her foot quickly. Cullen had his head in his hand, shaking it in disbelief, and Alistair was sure he heard a weary groan escape the man's lips.

They stopped in front of the pair like children who'd been caught with their hands in the cookie jar, mouths both opening at the same time to plead their cases, but Odette was too quick for them both, and had begun to scold before Alistair could even stammer.

"You two looked ridiculous!" She hissed, refraining from wagging an angry finger. She'd reduced them both to children with four words, and Alistair was finding it hard to believe he ran a country and Lavellan an army.

"We were – "

"Fighting." Cullen this time, and he raised his head to glare at his wife, brow furrowed. "Lavellan, the man is meant to lead and you bloody well know it."

"And you Alistair, did you have to kick her?"

"Don't think I didn't notice you stomping on his foot either. That's the King you know. Why must you try to mutilate him?!"

"Neither of you even smiled! And what was with the heavy lifting, Alistair?!"

Alistair glanced down to Lavellan, who was picking at the folds of her dress and shrugging her shoulders innocently.

"I think we did rather well." She had the gall to mutter, and it was so far from the truth that Alistair couldn't help the little giggle that tickled up his chest, and before he knew it he was laughing. Hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking laughing, and the others were joining in with crinkled eyes and wide smiles.

At least no one would want to dance with him now.


	5. Chapter 5

Shafts of morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, and Alistair was finally collapsing onto his bed, groaning in exhaustion as his wife followed his lead, but aimed for him rather than the mattress. He grunted, but accepted the weight happily. Weary limbs entangled, breath slowed down, and for a while they said nothing.

The music was still playing downstairs, a slow lilting tune that was meant to encourage the stragglers to their rooms. Though it never worked. Odette had once suggested they let the dogs 'encourage' the end of their parties, and Alistair still wasn't sure if she'd been entirely joking or not.

Still, despite her dry sense of humour, these formal events were usually made easier with Odette playing hostess. That was, when she wasn't forcing him to dance with strangers and fake nice with The Inquisitor.

He huffed at the memories, rising chest disturbing his wife, who shuffled up with a sleepy murmur, nuzzling against his scratchy stubble as she pried her eyes opens to glare playfully.

"Did you apologise to Mr Curae?" Odette asked, voice muffled as her mouth was pressed against his neck.

"Yes. I told him I didn't  _mean_ to spill wine down his wife's dress. But I don't think he believed me."

"Hm. No matter. I'll send him a fruit basket."

"How much do all those cost me?"

"Let's just say, you'd save us a fair bit of money if you stopped insulting people." She leaned up onto her elbows, head tilting, and hair fell over her shoulder to tickle his chin.

"But I'm the King, isn't insulting people one of the perks?"

She gave him an odd look, before rolling away with a sigh and staring up at the ceiling, too tired to argue. "I'm exhausted."

"Me too."

"I liked The Inquisitor."

Alistair almost groaned. He'd known this was coming. "Oh?" He said simply, not wanting to discourage her from making friends, just not willing to encourage that particular friendship.

"Hmhmm. She reminds me of me."

That did get his attention, and Alistair shuffled over to look down at his wife, hand cupping her cheek. "You're joking right? She's nothing like you."

"Oh I don't know. In charge of a lot of people. Married an ex-templar. Saved the world. Makes  _you_  sweat."

"It's a different kind of sweat." He grumbled, pouting as she began to trail his chest with her fingers. "And you trust too easily. She –"

"She gave you back Fort Merrow." Odette interrupted, hands slipping dangerously close to his breeches, then trailing around his waist to press him against her.

His hips grinded automatically, and Alistair found himself becoming thoroughly distracted, desperately trying to remember that it was that time of the month, and he had to – more or less- behave himself. "Wait… what?" He managed to stammer, taking a gulp. "How did you manage that?"

"I asked her."

Overwhelming pride heated his skin, and he beamed down at Odette until his cheeks hurt. "Oh my clever, clever wife! Why didn't I think of that?"

"Pfft. Simply asking? You know she's actually very reasonable. She also agreed to send you a herd of The Inquisition's best harts, as some sort of… peace offering."

"You realise I'm allergic to hart hair?"

Odette's smile turned evil, and she nodded. "Yes. So does Gwen."

Alistiar groaned, sick of talking about her now, much keener on kissing his wife. Maybe talking about his wife, to his wife. Anything but Lavellan.

"Do you know she's going to have a third child?" Odette continued, gaze drifting past him.

"Ahh… Cousland…" This topic was even worse.

"I think we have some catching up to do, don't you?"

"Oh. Right. I mean," he changed his tone from high-pitched shock and spoke as low as he could, complete with his best wolfish grin and wiggling eyebrows, "I believe I could oblige."

He'd meant to woo her, not make her laugh, but Alistair found he didn't mind either way, and chuckled before kissing his giggling wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my silly little story. Sorry this last chapter was a little short, but there was only so much childish bickering I could write before it became too unbelievable. However, if you'd like me to write more Alistair x Inquisitor 'fighting' then I take prompts on my blog (8ronwen on tumblr).
> 
> Anyway, thanks again!


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